


Oasis

by burninglikeabridge



Series: Punk Scavenger Spock [1]
Category: Star Trek
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, M/M, pining jim, punk!spock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 13:52:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8210882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burninglikeabridge/pseuds/burninglikeabridge
Summary: The mirror presses cold against his back.Spock fixes both hands on Jim's knees and kisses him.Maybe Jim actually is a romantic, because he's seeing those stars again.Jim doesn't stop him again.-In which Jim is a bit more straight laced, Spock is what would be loosely categorized as a space punk, and they have a two week one night stand that means a lot more to one of them.





	

Spock cards his fingers through his hair, in a half hearted attempt to make it neater. 

It's an old habit he's never fully kicked, even though it's grown out a few inches now and lost its clean, sharp look.   
There are many habits that he wishes he could move past, but even after a few years years on the road- if you can really call it that- he still turns to his same old ticks and twitches for relief from the noise of the world. 

He still finds solace in logic, and comfort in explaining things away. 

On any given planet, he can somehow still feel that he is back on Vulcan, living under his father's rules and his people's expectations, and his mother's unwavering and conflicting affection. 

No matter how far he goes, something in him seems to ache for a home. A home that he no longer has. 

 

~~~ 

 

Jim Kirk isn't exactly perfect, but these days some people would swear he comes damn close.   
He came from a less than squeaky clean past, but he's worked hard since to get his bearings. 

He still spends a fair amount of time prowling bars late at night, and he hasn't entirely given up his habits of drinking, smoking or getting in bar fights.   
But it's different now, not like when he was back in Iowa. 

He's now a fairly esteemed captain in Starfleet, and besides some drunken escapades and tendencies to bend a few rules, he gets along just fine. 

The thing is, he's bored. 

So with all this in mind, and an upcoming shore leave, Jim imagines himself at a bar across from a perfect stranger, boredom a distant concept. 

Things don't ever really live up to his expectations, though, no matter how many strangers stumble into his path. Some nights are good, some bad, even some he doesn't remember. 

He doesn't exactly have time to get swept up in some romance, and that's not truly what he's after anyways. Maybe just a shift in perspective, a bit of a change of scenery. 

He can dream, anyways. 

 

~ ~~ 

 

Just when it's starting to look like tonight might be a bust in terms of Jim finding anyone to hookup with, he sees him across the bar. 

Jim's not exactly one to get starry eyed, but holy shit. 

He's wearing a beat up jacket that looks like some type of black leather, with all kinds of trinkets pinned onto it, pants that look like they went through hell with him, and scuffed up boots, laced tight. 

He looks rough, in all kinds of good ways. 

His skin is pale, and the dim bar light casts a moonlight glow over him. 

It's clear right away that he isn't human, not exactly, but something much better, Jim thinks. 

He looks like exactly the kind of dangerous distraction Jim's been searching for. 

The stranger has noticed him, raised one eyebrow, but simply turned back to face the bar, looking thoughful. 

It takes Jim five minutes and another shot before he works up the nerve to walk over. 

Jim stands in front of him, now, tongue tied. 

Before either of them speak, Jim gets a good up close look at him.   
He realizes that even though this guy wears the standard punk-esque scavenger look, he's got pointed ears, slanted eyebrows, and a messier, grown out version of a fairly recognizable haircut. 

"You're... Vulcan?" Jim tries to cover his shock, but it's already slipped out. 

He sounds stupid, and wants to take back his words right away. Not exactly a great first impression. He wants to melt into the floor. 

Here's the best thing he's seen for fucking planets, and he's ruining it. 

The guy is looking right through him, eyes dark. His eyelashes cast slight shadows on his cheekbones, and he has a faint scar running across one side of his jaw.   
Jim wants to touch it. 

"I am something like that." The stranger's fingers don't leave his glass, and Jim suspects that it's not even alcohol. 

Vulcans don't drink, do they? He wonders. But Vulcans also don't look like this. He keeps this observation to himself, at least. 

 

His hands are long and slender. One of them rests on his knee. 

"Sorry. That was kind of rude." Jim blinks. 

"No need for apologies," He speaks in a smooth voice, and though his words are slightly more casual, he sounds like any other Vulcan Jim has ever met. 

He definately looks different, though. 

Now that he's close, Jim recognizes a patch on one sleeve of his jacket as being the Vulcan insignia. It's slightly worn, and looks aged. Jim wonders if he wore the jacket on his home planet, and how that went over with the extremely neat and repressed locals. He wonders what this guy is doing so far from home. 

"I'm Kirk. Uh, Jim. Jim Kirk." Jim's not usually one for fumbling, but right now, it's all he can do to even get a coherent word out. 

The guy nods once, and lets his eyes wander over Jim in an almost lazy way.   
Jim tries not to squirm.   
When he locks eyes with him again, his face looks unchanged, if nothing Jim says or does will phase him. 

"My name is Spock." He says blankly, shifting in his seat the slightest bit, as if even this small bit of information feels too personal. 

Jim knows he's staring, but can't stop. He's never seen anyone like him; and Jim's seen probably a hundred different aliens in his life, and slept with probably 10.   
He intends on racking that number up to 11. Tonight. 

"What brings you here?" It's a bad line, but the guy is icy as hell, and if Jim can just get him to talk back, he's almost confident that he can charm him. Almost. 

Spock's eyes haven't left him since he walked up, so there's also a good chance he's interested. 

"I am unsure," Spock says, and his mouth twitches at one corner, indicating that he's not too serious. He also looks like he isn't too serious about staying here, with the way his eyes wander to the door. 

Jim wants to be his reason for staying on this planet right now. 

Jim wants to make him forget whatever he's thinking about that's distracting him so much.   
He's getting ahead of himself, but he can't help it. 

"You're kind of mysterious," Jim says, keeps his voice low, moving to sit next to him. The barstool protests, the old wood creaking. 

Neither of them notice. 

Their knees bump as he moves, and Spock's eyes watch the contact. Hungry.   
Jim counts it as a small victory, and purposely keeps one leg touching his. 

"I have been told before that I carry somewhat of a," He looks like he's thinking. He's been thoughtful since Jim came over. "A certain impression of mystery." 

"Oh yeah?" Jim props up an elbow and leans his face on one hand, leaning a bit closer. God, Jim thinks. This guy is all kinds of good looking. 

He seems tall, even though he's sitting, and Jim thinks that he could easily press his mouth to his throat, with little effort at all. He would only have to bend his head the slightest bit.   
They would just fit together, just like that. 

Jim wants to prove that theory. 

"Kirk," Spock says, and Jim feels at least five degrees warmer just hearing his voice drag over his name. 

"Yeah?" Jim breathes. Or tries to, anyway. 

"Do you intend..." Spock leans in, and Jim swears his mouth actually touches his ear. His breath is hot, and one of his hands is brushing Jim's thigh. "To proposition me tonight?" 

Jim's not one for romantics, but Spock's fingers are burning a hole in his jeans and his voice is velvet and Jim can't think of anywhere better to be than right here, except for maybe being underneath Spock. Or up against a wall, or -

Spock shifts away, leans back into his own seat. 

He has one eyebrow raised, but everything else about him is perfectly poised. 

"Do you intend to accept?" Jim asks, careful. The tension between them feels paper thin; like this could all be over in a blink if Jim says the wrong thing. 

Spock smiles, a fleeting gesture that Jim barely even registers.   
His fingers ghost over the sleeve of Jim's jacket. Jim swallows. 

"Not tonight, Captain Kirk." Spock says, voice almost teasing.   
Jim's about to ask how he knows that before he stupidly remembers he's wearing a jacket with his rank on the sleeve.

Spock moves as if he's going to leave, but Jim catches his wrist. 

"Wait. Can I... Could I see you again?" Jim asks, hesitant. He sounds stupid and he feels it too; he doesn't ever really do this, not like this. He doesn't swap backstories or phone numbers or anything but spit, really. 

Spock looks as if he's considering it for a moment, before he shakes his head once. There's a ghost of a smile on his lips, and Jim feels like he's being mocked somehow. 

"I am not your type." He says simply. Jim wants to protest; everything about him is Jim's type- rugged, a little messy, probably a bit tragic. Some kind of beautiful enigma. And, best of all, he's here, right now, tonight, and all he has to do is say yes and Jim knows he can make it worth his while. 

But Jim doesn't really chase people, so when Spock smirks one more time and stands, Jim lets go. 

"On a second thought. I accept." Spock says, like it's an afterthought. Jim's mind is racing to keep up. 

"Accept?" 

Spock's smirk reappears. 

"I think that perhaps," He says, slow. "We have a few things to offer one another." He looks Jim over, even slower than he speaks, as if he's deciding just what Jim has to offer. 

Yes, he thinks, this is exactly the way he wanted tonight to go.   
He's buzzing. 

Spock holds his gaze for another moment, as if he's trying to convey something, before he turns and walks off. Jim watches him go into the bathroom, the door swinging shut, and wipes his sweaty palms against his jeans. 

Fuck.   
Everything in him wants to follow, needs to follow, but a small part of him is saying that this is all a very bad idea. 

He shouldn't hook up with some random, frankly kind of scary, stranger. He should pay his bill and go back to his room, alone. He needs sleep and a shower.   
He needs to get his head right. 

He knows all of this, yet his head is buzzing and his hands are itching for contact. 

He can't help but feel that this is all too perfect to be true. 

He ignores the feeling, and he follows. 

 

~~~ 

 

Jim is ambushed as soon as he steps into the bathroom. 

Spock locks the door with one hand, and pulls Jim close by his shirt with the other. His mouth is on Jim's before Jim can speak. 

He kisses him harder than Jim anticipated, but he's not complaining. Jim takes two steps and finds himself at the wall. 

Jim's thinking about how he'll have to walk out of this bathroom, past several members of his crew, and how he's going to look completely debauched by the time he does that. 

It's hard to think too much, though, because careful fingers are tracing his cheek, leaving trails of heat in their wake. 

His mouth is hot against Jim's throat, and Jim's hands scramble up his back, over his shoulders. 

Both of Spock's hands are braced on either side of Jim's head. 

He pulls back, breathing heavy, and Jim swears in the space between them. 

"Do you...?" Jim pants, and he isn't even sure what he's asking. 

Spock peels one hand from the wall to run his fingers across Jim's mouth, and if Jim had any coherent thoughts to begin with, they'd be gone. 

"Do you wish for me to stop?" Spock asks, voice low, and his tone isn't serious because he can tell just by looking at Jim that that's the last thing he wants. 

Jim's hands tighten on his upper arms, and Spock shuts his eyes in response. 

Spock's hand slides to his neck, his thumb pressing Jim's jaw with a steady pressure that makes his mouth fall open.   
Jim's a sucker for a bit of roughness, and Spock seems to know just where to touch. 

"Okay, fuck." Jim says, pressing his back to the wall in an attempt to create some space between them. 

"If you don't actually want to do this," Spock is silent, brings up one of Jim's hands and presses a kiss to his knuckles. He doesn't break eye contact, and for a dangerous moment Jim's sure he's going to put one of his fingers in his mouth. 

He's heard about Vulcans; he has a vague grasp of what hands mean in their culture.   
If Spock were to do that... well, Jim thinks it'd be obscene. And wonderful.   
He loses his train of thought. 

But Spock doesn't do it, just stands still, breathing. 

Jim's head falls back and hits the wall, vision swimming for a moment. 

"If you don't want this, really, then we have to stop, because you're kind of hitting my buttons right now." Jim chokes out, Spock's hand coming to rest against his chest, pressing him firm into the wall. 

Spock lets his mouth fall to Jim's jaw, not a kiss, just soft breath, and Jim leans into the touch more than he'd like to admit.  
Jim threads a shaking hand through Spock's hair, half stopping him, the other half encouraging. 

"Spock," Jim says, warning. He needs confirmation on Spock's end, at least. Jim knows that he himself wants this, more than he thinks he might've ever wanted anything. 

He's not thinking clearly; his mind is just repeating how much he wants this, needs this. 

It's been two months since their last leave, and Jim's been pent up. 

But Spock is probably at least a little drunk, from the way he's acting, and Jim definately is, and he really, really doesn't want to repeat any of his past bad decisions, not with Spock.  
Not like this. 

He's woken up next to strangers who hated him, hated themselves, and he doesn't want to deal with the aftermath of a mistake in a bar bathroom. Or a hotel room. Or wherever they end up. 

It feels like there could be something important between the two of them, even if it is just this once, Jim doesn't want to be the one to take advantage. 

"Don't..."   
Spock pulls back. 

"You wish for me to stop." Spock says, confused. His face betrays nothing, but his eyes are darker than before. His hands rest against the wall again, giving Jim some space to think. 

"It's not that." Jim lets go of his hair, drops both his hands. Spock is still. "I just... don't want you to do anything you'll regret in the morning." 

"Jim." Jim hates himself for being this easy, because all Spock has to say is his goddamn name and he owns him. "I do not feel regret," Spock's fingers are at his face again, dragging across his cheekbone, touch impossibly light when Jim knows he posesses much more strength. 

"When I look at you." Spock finishes. 

Jim wants to ask him what he does feel, but Spock's pressing closer now and Jim gets the idea and shuts up. 

He's softer when he kisses Jim this time, but the urgency is still there.   
Spock's hands drift lower, teasing, and Jim's hand scrambles for purchase against the tile wall while the other is firm at the back of Spock's neck.   
Spock grips the wrist of his hand against his neck, pulls his hand between them. His eyes are fixed there, and he drags his fingers across Jim's palm. 

"A kiss?" Jim asks stupidly.

His skin feels electric where Spock's finger drags across him, sliding up to meet with his two fingers. Jim's breathing stutters, and he watches Spock watch their hands. 

"A kiss." Spock confirms, and all at once Jim feels like he melts. This feels so much more intimate than he'd anticipated, so much softer all of a sudden.   
Spock entertwines their fingers, leans in for a featherlight kiss to his lips. 

Jim's other hand, against the wall, slides down.   
Spock looks at him, eyes warm.   
He drags his teeth across Jim's collarbone, and Jim is practically buzzing. 

"Bite me, bite me," The words spill out of his mouth before he can think about it, and before he can feel embarassed about his own urgency, Spock obeys and sinks his teeth in with a light pressure. The pain is sharp, but not severe, just good enough that Jim's seeing stars. 

He moans, too loud, and if Spock wasn't dropping his mouth lower already he would probably feel embarassed again. 

He's sure that somebody outside has either seen or heard them, but their hands are still locked together, and Spock's other hand is running down his back, and Jim can't quite find it in him to care.   
Jim realizes with a mix of anxiety and anticipation that Spock is sinking to his knees.   
He threads his fingers in Spock's hair, feels his fingers splaying across his stomach. He closes his eyes.   
He really, really wants to do this, but the thought of this being just this, in this bar bathroom, and then parting ways; he can't deny that it feels wrong.   
If Jim only has him tonight, this isn't how he wants him. 

"Wait, I-" 

Jim's not sure why he's even speaking; what the hell is his problem, anyways? He's never exactly been shy, or one to turn down any kind of physical favors, really.   
Spock stands again, hands resting on Jim's waist now. Patient.   
He looks at Jim with a steady gaze. His eyes are burning, but his face is blank. 

"Sorry." Jim says. And if he wasn't quite embarassed before, he sure as hell is now. 

He looks down. 

"Kirk," Spock's voice is made rough by his breathing. "Do you no longer feel interest in me? In this?" 

Great, Jim thinks. I've made him think I don't want him.   
Jim looks at him, beautifully rough looks made rougher by his own hands. He looks better than anything Jim's seen in a long time. 

"No. No I... I feel interest." He says sheepishly, dropping his eyes again.   
Spock drops his hands.   
Jim kind of wants to kick himself. 

"I just..." What? Want to get to know the guy or something? 

"I understand," Spock is straightening out his jacket, running a hand through his hair.   
He's leaving, you idiot, Jim thinks. 

"Wait, wait. I uh... I want to." Jim says. Of course he wants to. It's all he's thought about since he laid eyes on Spock. So why is it that, now that they're here, Jim can't seem to relax?   
He considers his options.

He can let him go, and go back to his room alone, get himself off and go to bed early.   
Or he can stay here, and take the best opportunity that he's had in a long time.   
He decides. 

"I want you." Jim tells him, stepping close again. He sounds more certain, makes sure Spock hears it.   
They're chest to chest, and Jim runs his hands down Spock's arms, lets his fingers trail over his hands. 

"Take it off."   
He shoves at the shoulders of Spock's jacket, and Spock shrugs out of it immediately.   
Jim's impressed with how quickly he obeys.   
The jacket hits the ground with a dull sound.   
The air is silent for a moment, heavy. 

Jim looks at him, and he laughs. 

The moment breaks, but he can't help it.   
Spock's wearing a very faded, beat up Starfleet Academy t shirt. There's a few holes , and it's worn out enough that the collar is stretched and shows most of his collarbones. 

"You were in Starfleet?" Jim's killing the mood again, but he can't help it.   
Spock frowns. 

"No. The shirt was... something of a gift."   
Jim presses a hand to his chest, forces himself to stop giggling like a child. 

"Sorry. It's just... I'm actually a Starfleet captain so. Y'know. Irony and all that."   
Spock quirks an eyebrow. 

"I am more than familiar with irony, captain."   
If Jim said that didn't make his knees weak, he'd be lying. Sure, he's called captain all the time. But not like that. 

Jim leans in, kisses him slow, taking his time.   
Spock reciprocates immediately, fixing his hands at Jim's hips, warm.   
Jim presses closer, lets his hands wander over the planes of Spock's back, his shoulders. He feels strong, unrelenting.   
Spock doesn't move besides the kiss, which only makes Jim want to make him falter even more. 

Just when he thinks that it's like kissing a statue, the statue has him pushed to the wall again. 

Yeah, Jim thinks, this is a good place to be.   
Not that he'd mind if Spock kept calling him captain, but he's grown tired of giving orders and thinks he'd very much like to take some.   
Spock's fingers slide up the front of his shirt, fingers tracing patterns in his skin. His touch is light, and though Jim arches against him, he doesn't do much else. 

He kisses Jim featherlight, teasing. 

"C'mon," Jim urges, squirms against his hands. 

"Impatient." Spock smirks, just a subtle quirk of his lips. Jim frowns up at him. 

"Well, are you going to fu-"   
Spock presses a finger to his lips. 

"If you want something, captain," Spock says, slow. "Then it is proper to ask for it." 

Oh, Jim thinks, and it feels about five degrees warmer in here now. Is this his way of asking me to beg for it? 

Spock's hand moves from his mouth, and Jim hesitates. He thinks that the type of dirty talk he's used to is probably miles away from this encounter. He racks his brain for something clever. 

Spock brings his hand to his neck again, fingers brushing over his ear and jaw. His other hand scrapes up his spine. 

"Please." He sighs. 

"Please?" Spock teases, running his hands through Jim's hair, down his shoulders, his chest. 

"Fuck," Jim tightens his grip on Spock's upper arm. 

That seems to be answer enough for him, because now Spock pulls him from the wall by his waist, and hoists him up onto the bathroom counter. 

The mirror presses cold against his back.   
Spock fixes both hands on Jim's knees and kisses him.   
Maybe Jim actually is a romantic, because he's seeing those stars again.   
Jim doesn't stop him again. 

 

~ ~ ~ 

 

As much Jim feared that their one night together would simply end, it went on for several more. Days, too. 

 

~ ~ ~ 

 

Jim's shore leave ends up being extended two more weeks due to a malfunctioning engine part, and for once he's grateful to keep his feet on solid ground. 

He sees Spock eleven more times in the two week span, and each time Jim feels more desperate than the last. 

He's good at concealing it, mostly.   
He thinks he's probably really falling for him, and he doesn't even know his first name, or really the first thing about him. 

Yet when they're together, Spock fills up his whole world, and Jim can't help but think of how well they seem to fit together, and how well they'd do as a team outside of a bedroom. 

He continually reminds himself that this is a tryst, a temporary situation, for sex.   
But he lingers longer than necessary afterwards, they go on a walk once, and out for a coffee one morning, and Jim feels more inclined to press their hands together than to tear his clothes off sometimes. 

He almost tells him so, three times, before he bites his tongue.

The first time, Spock is standing in the bathroom of Jim's room, fingers deftly straightening out his hair.   
He isn't looking at Jim but at himself, his eyes calm. Jim wonders if Spock realizes how beautiful he looks, slightly disheveled. 

"Spock." Jim feels like the word bubbles up out of his chest before he can stop it. 

"Jim." Spock looks at him in the mirror now, voice level.   
His hair is a little shorter than it was at first, because three days ago, Jim had teased him until Spock let him take scissors to his bangs. 

-

"Let me see those big, beautiful brown eyes." Jim had teased, brandishing a pair of scissors. 

Spock had raised his eyebrows at him from the bed, sitting up on his elbows, and Jim had clumsily climbed onto his lap. 

He anchored his knees on either side of Spock's thighs and leaned forward.   
He combed his fingers through Spock's bangs, grinning. 

"Jim." Spock had graduated to calling him Jim after they'd met up in the bar the third time. "I do not need a haircut." 

"Just like, an inch." Jim promised.

His motives were selfish, of course, but he couldn't help but wonder how Spock might look with just a touch more traditional Vulcan style. 

Not that Jim minded his messy, functional scavenger look. He was also testing the waters, to see just what Spock would let him get away with. 

Spock scowled, but his eyes fluttered closed long enough for Jim to cut his hair, and afterwards, he had kissed him, softer than before. 

-

Jim shakes himself from the memory, meets Spock's eyes in the mirror again. 

"Do you..."   
Spock raises an eyebrow.   
Jim loses his nerve. 

This person is alien to him in more ways than one, and no matter how much they've touched, Jim has to admit that he does not know him. 

His crush is unfounded, he tells himself, and childish. They are people of two different worlds, and no matter how much fun they have at night, morning always comes and with it all its duties, responsibilities and outside promises. 

Jim settles for silence, and stands from the bed, walks to stand behind him in the mirror. 

It's morning, and Jim has breakfast plans with his crew, and Spock vaguely mentions having an errand.   
But now, they are together. 

He runs his hands down Spock's chest, watches him in the mirror.   
Jim's had him twice today already, but wants him again. 

Spock's hands cover his own, and he sighs. 

"Jim." He sounds sadder this time, even if it's slight. 

He pulls away from Jim's touch, though his hands linger, and grabs his jacket from the table outside the room, slides into it.   
With it, he also slips on his same unreadable mask. 

"I have to leave." He says, and Jim clears his throat, rubs his eyes, brings himself back to reality.   
He stands looking at Jim, as if waiting for acknowledgement. 

"Yeah, no. Of course." Jim flashes him a smile on his way out. 

He takes an especially long and hot shower trying to clear his head, but just ends up feeling even more tired. 

The second time that Jim slips up, they're in the shower together.   
Jim has convinced Spock to stand still long enough for Jim to wash his hair. 

It took some crafty explaining, but Jim's starting to get good at talking Spock into things.   
Jim feels almost silly, coercing him into all of these small, domestic things. 

But Jim can't help it; he can't bring himself to ask for this type of intimacy outright so he settles for small excuses: 

"Your hair is too long," 

"You had something on your face," 

"Walking is good for you," 

And now, one of his least clever lines: 

"You'll just strain your shoulders, come on, let me." 

Which even to Jim felt flimsy and stupid, but for some reason, Spock is standing still to let him do it.   
Jim needs to make the most of their time together, and if he can't know much about Spock then he can pretend. 

"Are you finished?" Spock is only pretending to be truly annoyed, and Jim can tell by the smile he hears in his voice. Not quite a smile, really, but a softer tone that Jim's starting to be able to detect. 

His arms are crossed over his chest as if he's a child throwing a fit. 

"Don't open your eyes," Jim warns. It's an empty threat, because he's being extra careful to keep soap from Spock's face anyways. 

"I do not wish to. You will look ridiculous."

"Hey!" Jim grins. "That's not very nice." 

"I am not, as you say, very nice." 

"Yes, you are. To me, you're nice."   
Spock sighs, but doesn't pull out of Jim's hands until Jim tells him to. 

He turns, and they're nose to nose under the water. 

He looks perfect, Jim thinks.   
Countless people in this universe, on this planet alone, and somehow I've found you. 

His heart is heavy, but he doesn't let it show on his face.   
Jim stands on his toes, presses a kiss to Spock's nose, who wrinkles up his face in response. There's a slight hint of a smile on his mouth, though. He looks younger and softer than before. 

Jim takes his face in his hands, and suddenly finds he can't breathe. 

I like you, he wants to say. I like you so much, I'm scared. Say you like me too. 

Instead, he lets Spock kiss him, take his words away. 

Later, when he's alone again, he looks in the mirror and traces his fingers over the marks left by Spock's mouth, and his eyes burn. 

The third time Jim wants to tell Spock about his feelings, he practically spills his guts. 

They're sort of arguing, the kind of argument that could lead to some really good hate sex if Jim pushes it just right. 

But he isn't pushing for sex; he could have that if he just asked. He isn't sure what he's pushing for. But he keeps spitting responses back, each more venomous than the last. 

"I'm not your fucking boyfriend. So why do you give a shit so much?" Jim asks him. 

Spock sits up on the bed, frowning at Jim where he stands at the foot of it. Jim's pacing; he feels too full of energy, of emotions. 

Spock had complained about Jim spending so much time with the crew during his leave, claiming, "I assumed that you might grow tired of seeing the same people."

To which Jim had said, "You're one same person and maybe I'm fucking sick of you." 

And a stupid, childish argument had insued, mostly because Jim's purposely pressing it. 

"I do not 'give a shit'." Spock's tone is almost mocking, and Jim feels furious. 

"Then just leave. If you don't give a shit about me. Fuck off to whatever planet you came from." 

It's an empty threat, but for a moment Jim's afraid he's struck too hard and that Spock really will leave. 

Spock's face goes blank.   
They've only known each other for a few days, but there's time yet for them to be together and Jim woud hate to end it before he has to. 

Yet here he is, irrational, full of too much to say, while Spock is the picture of emptiness. 

Jim hates how much he cares, hates how vulnerable he's becoming. 

"You do not want me to go." Spock says simply, and Jim hates him because he can see right through him. He hates himself more for being so transparent. 

His hands are shaking. 

"So. So what? Maybe I don't want you to go. Maybe I wish you would just stay with me. I wish... that this were something else. But whatever. You don't care what I want." Jim points out, and Spock sighs. 

Jim feels kind of vulnerable here, because he knows he's just admitted something. And what, even he isn't sure. 

I want you, more than this, he thinks. Spock is just blinking at him, unaware. 

They never established that they wouldn't talk about feelings, but the idea went unspoken. It wasn't that type of arrangement. 

Spock just looks at him.   
Jim sits. 

"I know what you want." Spock tells him, reaching out for him. His voice is steady, careful. 

Careful, always.   
He's right.   
Jim submits, moving closer and letting Spock runs his fingers up his arms. 

"I'm sorry. I'm just stressed out about the ship," He lies. 

More accurately, I'm stressed because I'll be back on it in a week and you'll be history, and you'll move on and I'm not so sure I can, he thinks. 

Spock's fingers still against his forearms. 

"This is not permanent." Spock reminds him, and Jim swallows. 

He knows Spock is talking about the ship, more than likely, but he still feels his chest get tight. 

"Yeah, I get that. We're just fucking because we happen to be on the same planet. A two week stand, or whatever." Jim's proud of how breezy he makes it sound. He even forces a tiny smile to make it lighthearted. 

Spock frowns, like he dislikes the word choice, but can't disagree because he's right. 

He stays silent. It's what he's best at, Jim has learned. 

They both hesitate. The moment is fragile, like all of their moments, and Jim has to think quickly and carefully to right the situation before it breaks, and Spock gets flighty. 

"Kiss me," Jim says, because he knows Spock won't ask. 

And so Spock does, and neither of them say anything else. 

 

~ ~ ~ 

 

It's three days before Jim is scheduled to leave, and he recieves a call from Scotty. 

He informs him that the ship has been fixed, and that everything will be in working order by Friday morning. 

Jim thanks him, ignores the sinking feeling in his chest. 

He wants to be back in space, back aboard his ship.   
But something about it all feels wrong.   
He's here in this limbo with Spock, and he wants nothing more than to stay. 

If he could find a way to have both, he would. 

To find a way to somehow ask Spock to come with him. They would live together in space, maybe Spock would work aboard the ship somewhere. Side by side, Jim thinks.   
He knows they'd make a good team. 

He wonders if Spock would ever consider it. Surely he has ties elsewhere in the galaxy, maybe he has hobbies and habits and friends that he's attatched to. 

Jim could ask him to leave it all behind, to start over, and in his head Spock says yes.   
They're happy.   
But that's all an elaborate fantasy. 

Here, on this planet, in this hotel room, is the only place that they can exist together.   
Jim tells himself this, but isn't certain he really understands it. 

"Jim?" Spock calls him from the bedroom.   
Jim takes a deep breath, fakes a smile in the mirror.   
The door is closed, but he can hear Spock moving on the other side, listening.

"Yeah?" He calls back, aiming for sounding lighthearted.   
Spock hesitates.   
Jim shuts his eyes. 

Please say anything, please tell me how you feel. 

"What would you like for lunch?" Spock asks instead. He rarely strays from the script, never surprising Jim with emotional outbursts or moody behavior, the way Jim does to him. He's composed. 

He doesn't know that Jim is falling apart. 

"One minute," Jim calls back. 

He doesn't know that Jim's falling for him. 

 

~ ~ ~ 

 

They sit outside that same night, side by side on the pavement, Spock's hand on Jim's knee. 

Jim drinks bourbon straight from the bottle, and Spock simply watches him. 

"You travel a lot?" Jim asks him, letting his hand fall over Spock's. 

"I have travelled to many planets in recent years." Spock nods. 

Maybe Jim's getting a little drunk, because he's caring less and less about leaning against Spock's shoulder, and even less about thinking his words through. 

"Back to Vulcan? Assuming you're from there."   
Spock hesitates. 

"Sorry, man, didn't mean to-"

"Yes, I am from Vulcan." Spock confirms. His voice is tight, and his hand grips Jim's knee now. "I left my home planet three years and nine months ago. Due to... certain circumstances, I have not returned." 

"Shit can get rough out here." Jim gestures with his bottle lazily up to the stars. 

"Yes." Spock says simply. 

"And now you just travel space, huh?" 

"I have served many causes in my time away from my home planet, thought I have yet to find any so satisfying as to remain on any one planet. Now I just travel space," He confirms. 

Jim traces patterns into Spock's hand with his fingers, presses his thigh flush against his. 

"I travel space too." Jim rests his head on Spock's shoulder, shuts his eyes. Spock is still. "With a lot of people." 

Spock shifts slightly, his foot aligning with Jim's. 

"But I feel alone sometimes, out there." 

"I believe that, to utilize a human sentiment, we all experience the sensation, Jim." 

Jim is surprised that Spock responds at all, and even more surprised by what he says. 

But by now he's feeling too warm and fuzzy to move or speak, so he just softly hums in response. 

Spock moves to pull him to his feet with a hand around his waist, and Jim stands. 

"Do you wanna go to bed?" Jim asks, and gets all his words out in the right order. 

Spock doesn't reply, just leads him back inside, where Jim sits on the bed and starts to kick off his shoes.   
All at once he feels too tired for the task, and groans. 

Spock leans down, takes one of Jim's feet and effectively pulls off his shoe, and then the other.   
Jim smiles at him. 

"Thanks." He says. "I can do it. I'm not trashed or anything." 

"It is alright." Spock says quietly, as he stands again. He steps close to Jim, and Jim parts his knees to make room for him. They kiss, Jim's hands roughly pulling his face close. 

Jim sighs. 

"You are tired." Spock says. 

"No, I'm good. We can still-" 

"I will let myself out," Spock insists, but Jim catches him by the front of his shirt. 

"You can stay." He says, and then bites his tongue. It sounds too desperate, he scolds himself. 

"I do not wish to overstay my welcome." Spock looks almost anxious. Almost.

"Yeah, no problem. I mean. It's just... If you don't want to go, you're welcome to stay. There's room for you." 

Jim cringes inwardly. 

Spock has only actually stayed through the night twice in all their time together, and both times he woke early and left again.   
What makes tonight any different? 

Yet, Spock nods once, and then sits next to Jim, starts to unlace his own boots. 

Jim smiles, but turns and hides it when Spock looks at him. 

He feels giddiness bubbling up, like a child who's just earned a reward. 

Spock and Jim sleep side by side, hands mingling, and knees touching.   
Spock wakes early, but makes tea for himself and coffee for Jim, and stays. 

 

~ ~ ~ 

 

The time comes for Jim to leave, just as they both knew it would.   
It stings for Jim, maybe even more than he anticipated. 

They linger in Jim's room, his packed bags in the doorway. 

"Our time together has been pleasing." Spock says, face and voice void of anything. As if it's rehearsed. 

Jim nods, and looks at him. He's missed the script, he realizes, so he clears his throat to speak. 

"Yeah." 

After three weeks, Jim realizes that he still looks completely alien. That soft green skin, that he felt and kissed, seems miles away from him now. Inaccessible. That torn old jacket looks foreign to him. 

But his face, softened by their time together, but kept strong by his features; that face that is looking at him now so gently, Jim feels that he knows it. The longer Jim stares, the more prominent the soft green flush is across his cheeks, his ears, his nose. 

Jim finds it completely endearing, but somehow manages not to say so. He's proud of his self control. 

He doesn't have the words to express any of it, nor the courage to speak them. 

"Yeah." He says, shrugs.   
Noncommital, he reminds himself.   
This was what it was, he keeps thinking. This was physical. This was nothing. 

Spock is shifting on his feet. He looks almost nervous. Jim's mouth is dry. 

"I wish... to leave you with something." 

Jim assumes it's a kiss, and as Spock steps close, his eyes flutter closed on reflex.   
He thinks of all the times they've kissed. He wonders if maybe, now, he prefers the softer ones.   
Maybe he is a romantic after all. 

Jim's surprised when he instead hears the rustle of fabric and the sound of metal clicking together softly, before he feels the weight of something over his shoulders.   
Spock's jacket. 

"Spock..." He swallows. 

For the fourth time, Jim feels compelled to tell him how he feels. 

Looking at Spock, standing there, he looks more naked than Jim's seen him yet, but his face looks sure. 

His fingers linger on Jim's shoulders, brushing his collarbone. 

I'm in love with you, Jim thinks desperately, stupidly. 

His eyes search Spock's for something, anything.   
Please.   
I'm so in love with you. I can't leave. 

A flicker of something darts across Spock's features, and for a moment, Jim's afraid he's spoken aloud. 

But he's silent, the only sound in his head. 

Spock, of course, can't hear him.   
Jim can't say it. 

"I could see you out." Spock offers, but Jim shakes his head. 

"See you around," He keeps his voice even, and is proud. 

They won't see each other again; the truth is there but neither of them speak it. 

Spock steps close to him, kisses him once, chaste. 

He doesn't pull back for what must be ages, because Jim's holding his breath and finds that he's lightheaded. 

It feels wrong, somehow, because most of their kisses were so much warmer than this one, this goodbye kiss carved out of ice. 

Jim thinks back to their first night, how Spock was cold as a statue.   
All Jim wanted was to move him. 

That's all he wanted.   
We could have been so much more than this, he thinks. 

"Ashayam." The word is whispered between them, it's Vulcan and barely audible, but the moment is so fleeting that Jim doesn't have time to register, let alone ask. 

Spock pulls back, and Jim feels hazy, like he imagined it. 

He looks him over one final time, and is surprised by how little the realization strikes him now.   
He's leaving, and chances are, he won't ever look at Spock again. 

Spock looks slightly sad, like he knows what Jim's thinking, but Jim assures himself it's just the lighting. 

Jim presses his fingers to Spock's, gentle, and Spock closes his eyes. 

Jim's mind is racing.   
Please say you feel the same. Say something. Anything. 

Spock's eyes open, and his gaze locks with Jim's. He's silent. 

This is it, their final moment together, after what felt to Jim like an eternity spent within these walls. 

Jim hates how dramatic he feels, how desperate. This was just a fling, he keeps repeating to himself. This was just a hookup. 

He's forcing a smile. 

He can't feel anything besides numbness. 

He stares at Spock, whose eyes are still closed. His eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks, his eyebrows drawn as if he's thinking, or in pain. Then his eyes open, and the expression is gone. 

Jim wants to kiss him again, harder, to give himself reason to stay or Spock reason to go. But he doesn't. He runs his fingers over Spock's jaw, his ears, one last time. 

Spock says nothing, does nothing. 

That's it for their goodbye, before Sulu is knocking at his door, and Jim is leaving. 

He doesn't risk a look back at Spock, because he has a feeling that he's already gone. 

 

~ ~ ~ 

 

They don't see each other again, but Jim wears the jacket on every shore leave, and always returns to his own room at the end of the night. 

He hears rumors, but never seeks him out. 

Days turn to weeks, then into months.


End file.
